


Once Upon A Purgatory

by trenchcoatings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trenchcoatings/pseuds/trenchcoatings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Lucifer has a magic mirror, prince Castiel ends up in Purgatory with seven cursed men, and Dean is most definitely not his prince on a white horse. This is not a fairy tale, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon A Purgatory

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest, I'm not quite sure how this came to be, but I did enjoy writing it. So here's to hoping you will enjoy reading it as well.

**00.**  
Once upon a time in the middle of winter, when the flakes of snow were falling like feathers from the sky and the lake was frozen blue, a queen sat at a window looking outside, and the frame of the window was made of black ebony. And the blue looked pretty between the white snow, and she thought to herself, "Would that I had a child as white as snow, as blue as ice, and as black as the wood of the window-frame."

But the queen could not have children, she had been told, and therefore had an adopted son, who she loved with all her heart. Yet deep in her heart, she still had this greatest wish to ever have a child of her own.

And as if someone above had heard her quest for a miracle, soon after this she had a little son, who was as white as snow, and his eyes were blue as ice, and his hair was as black as ebony. The child was born on a Thursday, and because he was such a miracle, he was named after an angel. And so the snow white Castiel was born.  
  
Life was good to them, until the queen died by an unidentified disease. The entire kingdom was in mourning, but none as much as the king. And so it was that the king took his horse one night and disappeared, leaving the kingdom in the hands of his sons.

They were in charge of the kingdom together, but it always seemed the people would listen to prince Castiel better, because he was kind and generous and the true heir of the king, and his step-brother got wrathful. He was the elder, after all; the kingdom should belong to _him_ , not to his kid brother who had not yet even turned twenty-one, the legal age in their kingdom.

Now, don’t misunderstand this: Lucifer had never been a bad person. He had loved his parents more than anything, but then came Castiel and he took a big part of their attention, and Lucifer tried, truly tried, to accept his new brother and go on. But he would never love the boy with the big, blue eyes more than he would his parents, and his parents would never love him more than the boy with the big, blue eyes, and therefore slowly a feeling of jealousy had crept up on him.

He would still try, though, at first. As stated, Lucifer was not, in his heart, a bad person. But jealousy is perhaps the biggest of all evils, and with time, it corrupted Lucifer ever more; and so more and more, he longed for the lone power over the kingdom, and more and more he came to despise all of those who spoke so highly of Castiel alone.

He had been ever so scared to see the day Castiel would become of age, and when it had arrived, he had been forced to organise a ball for his birthday. A part of him still had the intention to show both his step-brother and the people that he, too, could be a good man, even though by this point, he could no longer been called that, exactly. It was a part of him that rested in the back of his head, stuffed away there beyond all the hurt and anger, and he would quash it the moment it started speaking up.

As it was, this ball was tonight, and after having given a very beautiful, and very false, speech for Castiel, ironically wishing him many happy years to come, both princes parted to mingle with the guests. Or at least Castiel did: Lucifer was not one for small talk. Perhaps if he were, we would have never had a story like this.

But Castiel would always dance with the people at festivities. He was one of those people that still believed in true love, and thought that if he danced with the one he was destined to be with, he would know. He never lead people on; after one dance, he’d once said, he’d know, and he would never go on longer than that.

Lucifer did not like dancing, either; perhaps because he did not believe in love at first dance. Instead, he would go around the room, pretending to check if everyone was having a good time, but in truth more eavesdropping on conversations that he considered important. Today, of course, most of the guests would be talking about Castiel, but it was just his luck that he would encounter a couple that were speaking so highly of him, and would drop, no, not a word about Lucifer himself.

“It’s awful, isn’t it,” a voice sounded behind him. “That they would praise him so highly, and you would be forgotten.” It was a woman, with twinkling eyes that held not the slightest hint of amusement. “I have seen you try, your grace. I can only imagine how it would hurt a man to be seen as a lesser king than his brother.”

He turned away from her, trying to casually brush off her words. This was not the time nor place, he thought, stepping away, but he could feel her eyes burning into the back of his head and the muscles in his shoulders were tensing.

“But then… They all love him so much, you can hardly imagine the need for comfort there would be if something should… happen to the precious prince.”

He should be angry at the insinuation. That little part in the back was. “What are you saying?”

Her smile broadened.

~

The next day, he asked Lilith, his first advisor, for a way to confirm once and for all that the throne belonged to him, and only him. He never recognised her smile as a knowing one; for Lilith was a witch, and it had been her who had whispered these unfavourable thoughts to him as he stood at the ball. Everyone knows witches don’t care about anything but bringing pain for their own amusement, but after the Great Witch Hunt of years earlier not many of them were left—which made them all the more vicious.

She had brought him a mirror that would answer all his questions and hung it on his wall, and Lucifer would never admit out loud what the first question was that he’d asked his looking-glass. He remembered that when he was little, his mother would tell him she loved him even though he was not truly hers, and she would tell him he was her Morningstar, the light that shone the brightest in her world. Of course, that was before Castiel was born, but Lucifer figured that he was still fair and bright. And therefore, the first thing he wondered was:

“Looking-glass, looking-glass, on the wall, who in this land is the fairest of all?" 

He looked at it expectantly, already knowing the answer, but when the glass drawled out its reply, it did nothing to ease Lucifer’s mind—on the contrary, it only enraged him further. “Thou art fairer than all who are here, oh Morningstar. But the snow white Castiel is the most beautiful of all there are.”

Again Castiel, Lucifer thought, and the hate he felt for his step-brother only grew and grew, for the younger man had always exceeded him in everything, and had always been loved more by everyone.

It was at that exact moment, that truly the last speck of goodness in Lucifer crumbled, and all that was left was a burning hate for the step-brother he had once been taught to love.

It is at this moment, that our story truly starts.

 

 **01.**  
“Castiel.”

The prince looked up and smiled when he noticed his brother entering his working chamber. “Hello, Lucifer.”

The elder prince sat down and smiled back, a gesture that warmed Castiel, for he often felt unpleasantly distant from his brother. “I was wondering whether you were still interested in learning  to hunt. I must admit, I have taken it upon myself to find you the best huntsman in the kingdom, willing to teach you.”

Castiel could not help but let out a small gasp. This was something he had not been expecting. “But from what do I owe this pleasant surprise?”

“See it as a belated birthday gift. I do apologise for the delay—finding the best huntsman has taken up some time, but I can assure you it will have been worth it. You are now truly a grown man, after all.”

Castiel had always wanted to become a huntsman. Not for a sport, but to protect the people of their kingdom; for as their prince, he felt he owed it to them. It was, after all, his duty to keep them safe, and the forests were dark and contained the most terrible creatures, dangerous and always looming in the shadows.

Lucifer had always forbidden him this, however. He’d explained that their father had been killed horrifically during a hunt and since Castiel had no memories of the event, for he had been so young, he took his brother’s words for the truth. He figured that now he was a grown man, of twenty-one summers, his brother could no longer withhold him the privilege.

“May I meet this huntsman?”

“Why, of course you may! Indeed, he is already here.”

Castiel could hardly blame his brother for this optimism. He _had_ wanted this for a long time, after all, but the fact that Lucifer had already invited the huntsman into the castle seemed a little premature. “Okay,” he said with a little frown. “Bring him in.”

The man Lucifer returned with some moments later did not look like a huntsman at all. He looked, in fact, far too sophisticated; blonde, with an unusually low v-neck and a dazzling grin. “Prince Castiel,” he said in an amused tone and a little bow. “You don’t mind if I sit down, do you? Hunting is very tiring.” He sounded like he originally came from another kingdom, somewhere across the ocean if Castiel was not mistaken.

“Yes, of course,” was his slightly flabbergasted reply. “So… you’re the best huntsman in the kingdom.”

“It appears I am.” The man took the wine Castiel put on the table and took a sip from it. “Name’s Balthazar. Your… brother told me you wanted to take up hunting.” He smiled. “May I inquire as to why the sudden interest?”

“It isn’t sudden,” the prince said. “But it is for my coming of age.” He felt no reason to explain everything to the man yet—perhaps, he thought, when they had been hunting for a while.

“Alright, then. I believe you own a horse? Lovely,” he said without waiting for an answer. “We can start tomorrow.”

That came as a surprise to Castiel. He had not been expecting to start that soon, and he was truly not sure he was entirely ready for it. But then, this Balthazar had nothing else to come here for, except to teach him. He would probably want to get it on with and go back home quickly. “That’s good, yes,” he answered, slightly taken aback by the huntsman’s bluntness.

“Oh, don’t worry too much; we won’t go too far yet. It is, after all, your first time.” He smirked. “Well, if that’s a deal, I had a really long journey and I’d like to retire to bed. I shall meet you tomorrow in the afternoon.” And with that he left, half of his glass still filled with wine. Castiel frowned and wondered how this man could possibly be the best huntsman in the kingdom.

 

 **02.**  
It did not take too long before Castiel had decided he should take that back.

They had, of course, not gone too far into the woods yet. The further you went, the darker and more perilous it became, and that was certainly no place to start. But apparently there was some supernatural creature or other that they could hunt somewhat further into the forest tonight, and Castiel was a strange mixture of excited and afraid. It felt like something was coming up tonight, but he was sure it would all be fine. Balthazar was indeed a better huntsman than he looked, after all.

“What are we hunting again?” he asked as they rode out.

“A wendigo. It has been bothering this forest for a while—but it lives further into the forest. Are you afraid?” Castiel still despised the amused tone in the huntsman’s voice.

Castiel had not a clue what a ‘wendigo’ was supposed to be, except that it was dangerous; more so than the relatively harmless creatures from the days before. He was confident it would be okay, though. “So how do we find it?”

Balthazar pointed at the tree trunk they were riding past. “Claw marks.”

“Does it just leave those everywhere?”

The huntsman smirked. “They are not, indeed, the most subtle creatures out there.” He then beckoned for Castiel to follow him further, and it got ever darker until their path became hard to see. The prince was not afraid of the darkness, but he was reluctant of what lurked in there. The thought alone made him feel like eyes were staring at him from all directions.

 A very uncomfortable feeling crept up on him.

“Balthazar?” His voice sounded really small to his own ears. But he felt alone, and honestly a bit scared. He wasn’t that good of a huntsman yet, and it was _really_ dark, and… do you ever feel like something is lurking behind you?

He snapped his head around but saw nothing, although that did not say much with this many trees and this little light. This could not truly be happening! He tried urging his horse to get back to the castle as quickly as possible, but McCloud seemed frozen in place and as much as he wanted to move, sitting high in his saddle also gave Castiel a sense of security.

That, of course, proved to be a mistake.

He was grabbed from behind and pulled of the horse; McCloud finally staggered and galloped off without him as he was dragged over the dirty forest ground by a creature he could not see, but he expected to be the wendigo. Well, at least he’d found it.

His head hit a tree trunk and for a moment he saw stars. But this was not how he was going to die. He refused it to be so—there still had to be a knife somewhere in his pockets, and he _would_ get to it and use it to free himself. He may be inexperienced, but he was not going to give up. He should’ve taken it out right away, how could he have been so stupid?

He managed to grab it, and slashed around with it wildly. The creature was behind him and he could not aim well like that, and knives did not help against wendigo’s, he recalled. But he did not need to kill it; all he needed was for it to let him go.

He knew he hit the mark when an inhuman scream filled the air and he was released from the iron grip for a moment, but he was not naïve enough to be assured it would last very long. By the sound of it, he may have as much as cut off its hand, but it was still standing and angrier than ever.

But before Castiel could do any more, suddenly there was a wave of heat so horrible he had to close his eyes, and the creature was shrieking even worse than he had before, and for a moment the prince was so surprised he did not even think of getting up and running away.

“Come on,” said Balthazar in a gruff voice that didn’t sound like him. “Get up. We need to go.”

“You were using me as bait.”

The huntsman laughed, but it was humorless. “Oh, no. If only it were that.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Prince Castiel. You need to get away as soon as possible.”

“Yes, I was planning on that.”

“Not home.” His eyes were boring into Castiel’s and the prince had no clue what was going on. Why would he not be allowed to go home? “Your grace, you don’t understand.” It seemed Balthazar could no longer look him in the eyes. “You were never supposed to learn hunting. You were supposed to die after a few lessons, make it look like an accident.”

Castiel felt speechless. He had thought the huntsman had, if not liked him, at least been good with his company. “I have never done you any wrong!”

“It has not been my choice. Your brother—”

These words earned him a death glare he had not expected the prince to be capable of. “Are you going to blame my brother now? He would never plan to kill me like this! Truly, Balthazar, I had come to see you as a good acquaintance, but this…”

Silence fell; the atmosphere grew ever thicker. Balthazar seemed to be contemplating what to say next, perhaps how to explain his lie: Castiel refused to believe Lucifer had wanted him dead. They were family; perhaps not by blood, but that had never mattered, had it?

“Listen to me, Castiel. You are a threat to the throne. I am telling you this as a friend,” Balthazar began, and he looked scarily sincere. “Do not return to the castle yet; he will have both our heads. Lucifer is consumed by jealousy. Nothing good can come of it. You need to run, as far north as you can.” His look turned contemplating before he handed over the bridles he was holding. “You can take my horse, he’ll know where to take you.”

“How can I be sure you are speaking the truth?”

“You can’t. But do realise I could have left you in the hands of that creature without blinking an eye; and I’m sorry to say that, after all, I was the one who let it happen in the first place. And if your brother truly cared, he would have had my head for it, for it would have been my responsibility not to have anything happen to you.” He shook his head. “You are a good man, Castiel, and as it was, I could not do this. You do not deserve to die.”

Castiel could never place his hand on the exact reason, but in that moment, he trusted the huntsman, because somehow it felt like he was telling the truth. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said dismissively, but grinning again. “Now off you go, I have a deer to kill. I’ll need some internal organs to show back at the castle.”

That gave a very unpleasant mental image—Castiel tried not to think about it before he’d be sick. Instead, he gave a curt nod, climbed onto the horse, and rode off with no exact destination in mind and nothing with him except  the clothes he was wearing and the knife that he had put back in his pocket. Somehow, he felt that this was a very bad decision and in truth he wanted nothing but turn back to the castle and call bullshit on Balthazar’s story.

But then, it had all happened so suddenly, so quickly… The moment his brother brought up the idea again when he had been the one to turn it down for years and years; the fact that he’d already found him a huntsman; Castiel could even, if he really thought about it, imagine ways where the so-called jealousy would have come from. It all fit, but that didn’t mean it had to feel right.

Perhaps, he thought, he could just hide away in the forest for a short while, and then try to talk to some of the people? He had no idea how they could possibly know more about this than himself, but he truly had no other plan and he was still fairly sure most of them liked him, and would not sell him out if it was asked. This, at least, was not naivety; he might be younger than Lucifer, but he knew how to make connections. He was the son of the king, after all.

He let Cupid slow down a bit, because trying to think while sitting on a galloping horse was really not that easy, especially in a dense forest like this. That, and the thought of getting further and further away from his lifelong home for the first time was not very comforting.

 

 

Hours later, he had more than half a mind turning back.

He was hungry, and his throat was dry; and he had yet to see any other scenery than _woods_. He knew Balthazar had said that his horse—with the horrible name of Cupid—would know where to go, but Castiel was seriously doubting this now. The entire road had been dark, but now the sky was becoming so too, and he was scared to go to rest where there was no cover. The problem was he also knew that he would fall asleep on the horse if he didn’t get some rest soon, and it would be just his luck to slide off Cupid in his sleep and break his neck, or something similarly stupid.

So he rode on and on, his eyes drooping, until he finally saw something. It was not the best he could have hoped for, like shelter, but a lake. He should at least take to that for now, wash himself and let both him and Cupid drink somewhat before deciding what to do next.

He jumped off Cupid and led him to the lake, eyeing the water suspiciously before he saw the horse was already drinking (and still standing). That should be okay, then.

“Well well, what do we have here? What’s _your_ name, Snow White?”

Of course  a place like this could not be as deserted as it had first seemed. “I’m sorry, I think you’re looking for someone else. My name is not Snow White.”

The man snorted as if he’d just told a good joke. “I like you,” he said as he slowly started circling Castiel. He was in dire need of a bath, Castiel thought, wondering for a moment how long the man had been here in the woods and if he himself was looking that dirty as well. However, he was snapped out of his thoughts at the words, “I’ll greatly enjoy drinking your blood.”

“The water in this lake is perfectly good to drink.”

“I’m afraid I don’t swing that way.”

Castiel stood straight and pulled the knife out of his pocket. He did not particularly enjoy the idea of someone drinking his blood, and in a flash he wondered why he had to encounter so many cruel things in one day. Everything had gone so fast the past few days; all he had wanted was to get to fulfill one of his greatest ambitions—and he was, but this was certainly not the way he had imagined it. “Get away.”

The man bared his teeth, long, ugly fangs ready to plant themselves into Castiel’s skin. He had been warned vampires did exist, but he had never encountered one in real life. He’d once read about them, though: how they were often unrecognisable… and how the only way to kill them was to cut off their head.

His knife was way too small to cut off any head bigger than that of a mouse.

The vampire had noticed this, too. “That won’t help you, little Snow White.” He stepped closer, and Castiel stepped back, determined to do this on his own terms. 

Something in him screamed that the vampire was just playing with his food; he had no doubt in mind the man could’ve overtaken him before he’d so much as said a word.  He moved silently, and Castiel hadn’t heard him coming. The realisation that he was just part of the vampire’s game only facilitated a feeling of utter dread in his stomach.

“Hey, asshat! Why don’t you try taking on someone your own size?”

It came from behind the vampire, and if it was meant to divert his attention from Castiel, it worked, even though the source of the voice was most definitely not someone of his own size. But the guy just stood there without doing anything, with a shit-eating grin on his face, waving.

It was then that Castiel noticed someone else from the corner of his eye, someone with an axe in his hands that was swinging—oh god, now a head was rolling over the ground and the body was way too close, thumping down onto the ground in a bloody mess.

“You alright, man?” the guy with the axe inquired, his floppy hair hanging half over his eyes as he looked at Castiel. “What were you thinking, staying at the lake all on your own?”

“I…”

“Yeah, Sammy boy, not here. We can take him back to the others, right?” The other guy came up to them, and he looked even smaller up close. “He looks alright.”

‘Sammy’ threw a bitchface at that. “There’s a great many people that look alright, Gabriel. We did not save him from a vampire just to get us all killed in our sleep tonight.”

“I am… not planning on killing you in your sleep,” Castiel supplied. He wouldn’t even be capable of it if he tried. He was okay with the murders of the creatures he’d seen today, but they were vile and vicious beings, and these people had just saved his life.

“That’s what they all say,” Gabriel said cheerily. “Seriously Sammy, look at him. You remember seeing this guy, right? Because man, is he a good one.”

Castiel had not a clue what the man was talking about, but a light seemed to go on behind Sam’s eyes and he nodded, and Castiel was grateful. “Come on, Cupid,” he murmured to the horse. “We’ll find you a nice patch of grass and let you rest and I’ll send you back home, yeah?”

“So how did you end up in Purgatory?” the smaller guy asked cheerfully.

“Purgatory?”

“Yeah, you know, most dangerous parts of the wood and all.” He made a vague dismissive hand gesture. “Don’t worry about it. Now tell us.”

Castiel actually did find this something to worry about. “My name is Castiel. I… was sent to run from home.” He tried explaining the story in as little words as possible, not having it all figured out yet himself.

“You mean you actually seriously are the prince?” Sammy asked, throwing him a scrutinizing look. “Hey Gabe, shouldn’t we check if he’s a skin changer or something?”

“Perhaps we should. You’re not afraid of knives, are you, Castiel?”

The cut was made before Castiel even realised it, but it seemed to satisfy the men—more than that, even; Sammy’s attitude actually seemed to make a 180 degree change.

“This is perfect! I mean, we’ve spent enough time planning, haven’t we?” He seemed to be speaking more to the other man now. “And he could totally help us. I’m really sick of this, something should’ve been done a long time ago.”

Castiel had not a clue what they were talking about, and he didn’t care for it much. All he really wanted was to sleep, but these two strange beings had told him to come with them; for apparently, they had a place that was much safer. He liked to believe them, but if it was much further he wasn’t sure if he could go before just falling asleep where he stood.

“Well, this is it. You can…” Sammy raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, take my bed and go to sleep.”

 

 **03.**  
“I never got to properly introducing us yesterday, you fell asleep right away. Don’t apologize,” he said as Castiel opened his mouth to do exactly that. “I get that it was a tiresome day for you. Anyway, my name’s _Sam_ ,” with an emphasis on that one syllable and a glare at the other guy that had been there yesterday, “this is Gabriel… Bobby,” he gestured toward a grumpy-looking older man, “Ed and Harry—they’re together all the time, but if you insist on remembering who is who, Harry’s the guy who sneezes constantly.” (“I have very bad allergies!” Harry proclaimed indignantly.) “And there’s Garth, of course…” as a guy came in and instantly knocked over his chair. “I suppose Ash is still asleep, you’ll meet him sometime.”

Castiel nodded, trying to remember all of the names and wondering why they were all so small. Out loud, apparently, because Gabriel laughed and threw an especially amused look at Sam. “It’s a curse. You know Lucifer’s advisor, Lilith? She’s a witch—in every sense of the word, I guess. You openly disagree with Lucifer, whether he even knows it or not, she’ll be right at ya, sending you here and, well…” He made a gesture at himself as if to emphasise his size. “I don’t know why either. Sam here says it’s supposed to be a disadvantage regarding everything else in these woods and she probably thought she sent us to our deaths. I personally think she just does it for kicks.”

It was a lot to take in, all the things he’d heard about his brother in the past days. He could not believe his brother was truly evil, even after all these stories, but he had to admit that what he did was far from good. “So what were you planning to do, Sam? From what I heard you saying yesterday…?”

“We need a counterattack. Get away from here, get Lucifer away from the throne… I think Garth was the one who actually tried to get you to see your brother’s jealousy, but he never got the chance.”

Castiel suddenly felt guilty. If he’d realised sooner, he could’ve easily done something about it, hadn’t he? But there had never been anything Lucifer had openly done to show how he felt; never displayed any jealousy towards Castiel, or deep wishes to carry the crown alone… had there? “How did you all know?”

“Boy, you need to open your eyes,” Bobby said gruffly. “It’s all great that you spent so much time getting to know the people at your ballroom events, but you should’ve gotten to know your brother more, or at least watched him more closely. He’s resented your place among the people for years—they like you much better. Guess he’s been planning a way to get rid of you since your last birthday, you coming of age and all. You could’ve claimed the throne for your own, you know, and he would be left with nothing.”

“I wouldn’t…” Castiel shook his head, knowing that arguing wouldn’t help. Something else would, though. These men were telling the truth, he knew that deep inside. Everything he had been told clicked. “I’ll help you,” he decided right there. “You don’t look like you deserve to be here, and if Lucifer truly is as bad as you say…” He bit his lip. “We need a plan.”

“I’ll wake up Ash.” Ed rolled his eyes and left the room, to get back a few minutes later with a guy with the weirdest mullet Castiel had ever seen.

“Hi guys… What’s the occasion?”

“We have an ally is the occasion.”

Ash shot one look at Castiel and nodded, without inquiring any further. “Awesome. Let’s get to it, then.”

 

The problem was that they did not have a clue what was going on in the actual kingdom—or the castle—at that moment. They did not know if things had already changed or what could still change between then and the time they’d get there, so they decided to assume the worst. “Probably less boundaries for those monsters,” Gabriel supplied. “You know, like huntsmen can hunt deer again, but not wendigo’s, because those have proven to be too dangerous?”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Sam pulled what Castiel was learning to be his Annoyed Bitchface. “If he wanted to come across as caring, he’d tell them to hunt wendigo’s especially, you know, as revenge for killing his brother?” His expression shifted. “Dean would hunt every single one of them down.”

Castiel had no idea who Dean was supposed to be, but something in Sam’s expression made him not want to ask. Bobby just made a face he couldn’t properly place, and the rest of them were acting like there was nothing he should (or shouldn’t) know, anyway.

“We should assume there’s more of them now, though,” Bobby said gruffly.

“He’s right. If we assume the worst, it can only get better, right? …”

~

It took them days to think of all possible worst-case scenarios, but the one thing they forgot to anticipate on was also the most important. And while of course they could not know it had happened, for no one knew of the magic mirror, it was something they would truly have needed to take precautions for. The event is this:

Believing the heart he’d been given had been that of his step-brother, Lucifer believed that he now was the true king of these lands, and once again the brightest Morningstar. So he took again the looking-glass.

“Looking-glass, looking-glass, on the wall, who in this land is the true king of all?" 

The glass, in all its drawling glory, answered (almost gleefully): “Oh Morningstar, thou art fairest and truest of all I see; but across the forest where the banned dwell, Castiel is still alive and well, and none is fairer and truer than he.”

Lucifer knew the looking-glass never spoke falsely. Balthazar must have betrayed him for his horrible step-brother to be still alive!

By this time, Lucifer was so corrupted with anger and the thought of power, that he could not let this go, even if Castiel was far away. He had to find a way to kill the nasty blue-eyed miracle himself, if no one else would do it, but how?

“It’s not too difficult,” Lilith said as he asked her. “You know the poisoned apple story of Eve? I can make something similar happen… He’ll be so attracted to it he cannot let the apple just lie there, and when he takes a bite…” She never finished her sentence, but winked and got to work.

~

Later, after the planning had been long done and the seven cursed men were out to get supplies, Castiel had decided to get himself some food. He was hungry, and after breakfast there was really nothing in the cottage left, so he thought if he didn’t stray too far, he could see if something edible was out there.

As it was, a beautiful apple tree stood behind the cottage, and if it looked a little out of place Castiel didn’t care: his mouth started watering at just the sight of it. He hadn’t been on this side f the cottage yet, having preferred to stay inside for the time being, so he figured that perhaps they had grown this here and kept it from withering by caring well for it, and his stomach was grumbling loud enough to accept this for a fact even though a voice in the back of his mind said he should be more cautious, after all the things he’d found out the past week.

He sought out the most fresh looking apple, and as he rubbed it over the fabric of his shirt it shone so brightly nothing could possibly be wrong with it, could it? Many things in the wild were not edible, but this was certainly not one of those things. And it was just an apple, after all. There were no poisonous apples known in the wild.

The bite he took tasted indeed like it should, and he smiled, slowly relishing the taste of something so fresh in this dark air.

He never got to the second bite.

~

The first to come back and find him was Sam, just a withered tree and a body on the ground, and for a moment he wondered if Castiel had fallen asleep out there. But when he came closer, he realised that no one would sleep in that position, surely?

Indeed the prince didn’t seem to be breathing, and when he checked, he could feel no pulse. Sam cursed under his breath, and sat there until Ed and Harry came back to pick him up and lay him on a bier, where they stayed sitting next to until all the others had come back.

“What happened?” Gabriel asked as soon as he saw them, and for the first time he wasn’t grinning like usual. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Wait for a prince on a white horse,” Bobby murmured, and everyone shook their heads and looked at the prince unhappily.

Ash had them all check for a pulse, or a puff of breath, but no one found one and in the end Ed said, “We should bury him, right? We can’t let him lay out here, you know what’s out there.”

“I can’t do that yet,” Sam answered. This was the face of the man who had been their last hope, for who else could’ve taken over from Lucifer? And this was also the face of a good man, one who did not yet deserve to die. He couldn’t possible see that face lowered six feet into the ground yet. “Can’t we take him inside for another day? I can make him a coffin, but let’s not take it into the ground yet.” He ignored the look Bobby shot him and stood up. “I’m… I’ll do that now, then.”

He got to making the coffin alone, for he wanted some time to think without anyone trying to comfort him. He had liked the prince, and he had hoped so much for a real chance to go home. He could still try, of course, but the heart of the matter was that they needed Castiel’s cooperation to truly lift the curse. He was sure they could find a way to leave Purgatory if they really set their minds to it—Ash had almost been there when the prince had turned up—but he would never be really himself again until the true king would have killed the witch who had placed the curse upon them.

He thought of the woman he’d loved but had never told, and the brother he had left behind after the last fight he’d had with their father, and he wondered how the both of them were doing. He wondered—once again—if his brother had been looking for him in those months he had been gone. He liked to think Dean had, even though perhaps that was worse because if he hadn’t found them yet, he probably never would.

As he finished the wood of the coffin, he brought it inside, where Garth filled it with the softest cushions he’d been able to find, and they lifted the prince into it gingerly, folding his hands over his chest as was the usual in such cases. And they all just stared at him, and tried not to cry.

It went the same for the next two days: they would wake up, one by one, try to keep up hopes and keep back tears, and go to bed early again, until Sam one night could not sleep. It was weird, really, because it felt like something close to anticipation was burning inside him, although he knew of nothing that could be coming up.

He went to sit outside, on the front steps of the cottage, and stared up at the stars he could not see, making a silent wish for—”

“Sammy?”

The only one who ever called him that here was Gabriel, but this was most certainly not Gabriel’s voice. He stood up in an instant, trying to see between the darkness of the trees. “Who’s there?”

It was a grinning figure that came out into the clearing, smirking down at him from upon his black horse. “They had warned me you’d be quite shorter… but even as a dwarf you’re more just normal human-sized.”

“Dean.” Sam had no idea what exactly his heart was doing—swelling with relief that this wasn’t anything dangerous, and joy to see his brother, and a fair share of brotherly annoyance.

Dean jumped graciously off his horse. “Yeah. You gonna let me in? Those woods here don’t agree with intruders at night, lemme tell you.” He smirked broadly, though, so whatever had happened on the way couldn’t have been that bad. Sam should know, of all people.

“Yeah, I… of course!” He appeared too much in shock to ask important questions just yet, or even check if this was really his brother—although no one made such shitty remarks like Dean.

They tied the horse next to the house, leaving her with a barrel of water, and Dean followed his little brother into the cottage. “Have you been here all this time?” he asked with a frown.

“Yeah, been looking for others like me and thinking up a plan, you know, to stop Lucifer and break the curse.”

Dean didn’t ask any further, so Sam assumed he knew. “And?”

Sam’s shoulders slumped. “Well, there’s seven of us now, but there’s no hope of breaking the curse. I’m gonna look like this forever.”

His brother raised an eyebrow at him, looking around. “That ‘rest’ asleep, then? And what do you mean, no hope? You’re way to pessimistic, dude. There must be a way to break it.”

“There is a way to break it.” Sam opened another door and gestured inside. “The problem is this is the person who’s supposed to do that.”

Dean didn’t know what he’d been expecting when he walked inside the room, but this was not it. There was a man lying there, in what looked like a handmade coffin, and even though he appeared to be dead, he looked—well—beautiful. “No fucking way, man.” He walked closer, crouched down, and hesitantly touched the side of the man’s face, which was unnervingly cold. “That’s just my luck, isn’t it?”

“Just _your_ —?” Sam sputtered indignantly, for it was after all not Dean who was trapped in a body too small for him.

Dean didn’t comment on it any further, though he did keep staring at the prince for a little while longer. “You should try kissing him,” Sam said dryly, remembering Bobby’s comment about waiting for a prince on a white horse (even though he could hardly count Dean as such). “You know, big fairy tale love story. You kiss him, he wakes up, you get instant married...”

“Dude, no. I’m not going to kiss the dude.” He looked scandalized at the mere suggestion. “You do it, you’re enough of a girl anyway.”

Sam held up his hands, but smirked in a way Dean definitely did not like. “No need to get all defensive, man,” he said before walking out.

“I’m not—!” Dean started yelling after him, but he just got interrupted by his brother’s laughter and decided it wasn’t worth the bother. He shot a look at the dead guy instead. “I mean… you’re _dead_.” Yeah, masterful deduction, Sherlock. As if he needed to be told.

He pulled a face at the guy as if it were all his fault (which it was, really; he could just _not_ have died) and followed his brother back into the main room.

“You got a place to sleep for the poor guy who fought his way through the entire forest to get here?” It was teasing, but Sam shot him Bitch Face #1 (the ‘You’re Not Funny, Dean’) and gestured toward the sofa.

“Dude, you can’t tell me Dead Guy has slept on the sofa all the time.” Because _he_ was most certainly not. The thing didn’t even look like a sofa (obviously, because where the hell would they have gotten that from?), more a wooden bank with some soft stuff on it Dean couldn’t directly identify. He wondered if some of them had been here a long time, to have made something that was a good shot at furniture.

“Your Dead Guy has a name, Dean. It’s Castiel.”

“You mean like the actual prince? Well he certainly didn’t sleep here.”

Sam sighed and gave in. “Okay, okay, come on then.”

And so Dean ended up trying to make himself comfortable on the makeshift mattress that had been thrown on the ground in a room that was supposed to serve as god-knows-what and not to think too much about the fact that he was taking over someone’s space even though that someone could hardly care anymore. It was hard, though, as the pale face kept swimming in front of his eyes as he lay staring at the ceiling, and he wondered how someone who was dead (for fuck’s sake!) could have possibly made such an impact on him. Trust Dean Winchester to go for exactly that what he cannot have.

 

He didn’t remember falling asleep. The only reason he knew he had was that he was shocked violently awake by a loud bang, which seemed to have come from a tiny little guy throwing open the door. “Dean-o! Good to see you here, buddy! You can put that gun away, I’m not planning on hurting you anytime soon.”

Dean blinked a few times before putting away the gun he barely remembered taking out from under his pillow in the first place. It was a startle reflex, really. If the guy hadn’t wanted a gun pointed straight at him, he shouldn’t have been so obnoxious. “Who’re you?” he finally asked in a voice that sounded still half asleep.

“Name’s Gabriel, nice to meet you. Get that fine piece of ass downstairs ASAP, we’re gonna have to change our plans.” The last words had barely left his mouth and he was gone again. Dean yawned, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and hopped out of his would-be bed. It was a good thing he was a morning person, really.

There was a whole lot of activity when he came downstairs, people (really short people) chatting and eating or still making breakfast. “Uhm,” he said as a way to announce himself. “Morning?”

All fell silent for a moment, and then everyone started talking even louder, until the oldest of the seven finally raised his voice. “Could y’all shut your friggin’ mouths for a moment? I’m gonna end up deaf with you idjits.”

“Bobby?”

“Hiya, Dean.”

“What… how…?”

“Was the first person Sam here turned to after the fight with your dad. Didn’t turn out too well.” He didn’t sound like he regretted it, though, and Dean suspected him to be a little glad to have been able to keep an eye on Sam. In any case _he_ was glad for it. Sam looked mostly apologetic, but didn’t say anything.

“Sorry ‘bout that. What’s for breakfast?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Guys, meet my idiot brother, Dean,” he said and it was only then that Dean realised he didn’t know half of them yet. He’d been too distracted by seeing Sam and Bobby here. “Dean; Ed, Harry, Garth, and Ash.” They all nodded at him in turn and he gave a curt nod back. “Dean, sit down, your breakfast’s almost ready. It’s more important to fill you in on the situation as quickly as we can.”

Dean had a lot of arguments against that, really, but he got another bitch face and decided it wasn’t worth it. “Okay. Shoot.”

 

 **04.**  
There wasn’t really much of a plan. Sam was adamant about Dean kissing the guy as if that would change anything, and turned down all Dean’s (admittedly weak) arguments about him being a guy by telling him he’d seen him check out men before. Dean didn’t even bother to deny the accusation.

“Yeah, well, even if I were gay—” because he wasn’t, even if he did look at men sometimes, “Sam, the guy’s dead.” Dean wondered how many times he had to repeat this fact for the others to realise it too.

“He hasn’t changed a bit though, has he?” Garth suddenly said as he was staring at the coffin. “I mean, shouldn’t he look more… well, _dead_ by now?”

Dean snorted. “What, you mean he looks alive?”

“Shut up, Dean-o, Garth’s right. Something’s off.” Gabriel frowned and poked Dead Guy’s arm. “He’s not even _that_ cold.”

“So maybe he really isn’t dead,” Harry half-asked, sneezing again. “Damn allergies,” he muttered under his breath, looking at Dean out of the corner of his eyes as if hoping the new guy wouldn’t think he was too uncool or something.

“See, Dean? So that argument is invalid as well.”

He groaned. “Dammit, Sam, no it isn’t!”

“We should just lock you in here,” Gabriel suggested gleefully. And since he and Sam were now best friends or whatever, they _actually freaking did_. But he did not lose the fight from seven guys who only reached his waist. He just really hadn’t stood a chance against seven miniature men who were all conspiring against him, he could hardly fight them if he had such an unfair advantage of being twice as tall, right? Right.

He looked back at Maybe-Not-So-Dead Guy and pulled a face. He still didn’t look like he was going to start breathing again anytime soon. “Come on guys, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Dean, I swear to God, if you’re about to pick that lock…”

Dammit, Sammy.

He glared at the lock and by the way Sam was laughing at the other side of the door, he knew he was being watched. So they were really going to check on him. Well, he could let them wait. They had to let him out sometime, or just all fall asleep or something stupid like that. He’d just wait until that moment and pick the lock and run like a madman. He hadn’t come to his brother’s rescue just to get pushed into this fuckery.

What he forgot in this brilliant plan, of course, was that there were seven of them, and only one of him. And they took turns, actually took fucking turns, watching him while the others slept or ate or did whatever dwarves do, and Dean was still miserable and alone and freaking _hungry_.

He was fighting a losing battle here, but giving up now seemed such a cowardly thing to do.

“Hey, Dean? Garth made burgers.” He could practically hear Sam’s smirk. “Even with the ones he managed to burn, there’s still enough for all of us… That is, if you get out of there on time.”

“You’re a freaking bitch, you know that?”

“Yeah, whatever, jerk. Are you ready to come out or would you rather let yourself starve?”

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Dean glared at the door. Stupid Sam with his stupid, ambiguous remarks. “Fuck you.”

He took a deep breath. Fine, then, he could try, right? He’d had to do worse things in his life. As long as he didn’t manage to get any poison on his lips should it still be on the other guy’s (because that was what Ash had told him they suspected had happened), he’d be perfectly okay. Nothing would happen, but at least he could say he’d tried, get out, and grab a freaking burger. His stomach was positively growling by now.

It felt really uncomfortable seeing such an unresponsive face get closer and closer as he leaned down. He felt like a complete pussy as he closed his eyes, but really?

The man’s lips were chapped and dry, and cold, and if Dean were really honest, it was a pretty freaking creepy thing to do, especially when it didn’t even seem to work. But as he pulled back, just the slightest disappointed, the man started coughing and spluttering, so hard that he coughed something up that actually freaking hit Dean in the face.

Disgusting.

It was all forgotten when he looked into the bluest eyes he had ever seen, however. “Stupid apple got stuck in my throat,” was the first thing Blue-Eyes said, in a deep voice that went straight to a part Dean didn’t want to think about. Then, surprised, “Hello. Who might you be?”

There was a gasp from outside of the room and Sam was inside in an instant, questioningly looking from Castiel to Dean and back as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. When it dawned on him that Dean had actually done it, he had difficulty trying to contain his laughter. “You actually did it!” His voice was mirthful, and it was like he was trying to figure out whether to laugh at Dean, or be extremely relieved. He seemed to go for both at once.  “Castiel—this is Dean, my brother,” he managed to choke out. Dean shot him a very dirty look.

“Hello, Dean.”

“I… Hi, Cas.”

Sam was freakin’ still laughing as he went to get everyone. Castiel didn’t seem to understand why, and he asked as much as Dean led him back into the living room. He winced and explained what had happened in very, very short terms. “Look, dude, this doesn’t mean I’m, like, your prince on a white horse or something, okay?”

“Of course not,” Castiel frowned. “I am the prince, and if that is your horse out there, it is black, not white.”

Dean tried not slapping himself in the face.

 

 **05.**  
Escaping Purgatory in itself wasn’t that hard, although admittedly it took them longer than they had calculated. Really, it was hard keeping a group of nine people together of which one constantly falls asleep, one has the tendency to walk away and pull random pranks on everyone, and another was only just getting used to the amount of blood involved with travelling through the woods. However, it was mostly the next part of the plan that seemed to consist of nothing but trouble.

The idea was that the seven cursed men (Dean was _not_ allowed to call them dwarves) would go straight for Lucifer, as that had initially always been their plan before they got cursed, and Dean would help the prince to find the witch and break said curse.

Aside from having to fend off some truly awful creatures along the way, the first part of the plan—the getting to the castle part—didn’t go that bad. Apparently, Dean was a great huntsman, and Castiel already knew Sam and Gabriel made a good team as well. All in all, the lot of them got to the edge of the woods without much more than some scratches. It was from there that things got worse. The Big Seven (as Dean had jokingly deemed them) had gone off to do their part, and Castiel was now waiting with Dean for their turn to shine.

“Do we have any idea in what part of the castle we should be?” Dean asked. Castiel had already explained where Lucifer’s chambers were, but he had never much interacted with Lilith, and it greatly frustrated him how little he actually knew of her when he really thought about it.

“I do not know more than the last time you asked, Dean.”

“So, what, we just barge in and run back and forth the entire castle till we’ve found her?”

“I would not say ‘barge in’, rather—”

“Yeah, yeah, just walk in and pretend everything’s normal until someone notices, as if that’s gonna work.”

They’d had this discussion at least five times during their journey back to the castle, and never had it ended any different than this. Dean sighed and looked up at the castle. “Well, they’ve been gone for long enough. Let’s go then.”

The decision not to go all in one go was made with the thought that the attention would be diverted (and hopefully not the security sharpened). That, at least, was one thing that did go like they’d planned. The one guard that was left at the front gates was so surprised to see Castiel, that Dean could easily hit him on the head with the back of some sort of gun that he claimed to be very special. “We’re in,” he claimed dryly.

Of course, after that, everything went to shit.

Someone, somewhere screamed bloody murder—Castiel assumed it came from the direction of Lucifer’s chambers—and truly the entire castle could hear it. Dean pulled him to a small side corridor right before three guards came running past them. “Shit.”

“Yes.”

“She’s gonna be there now, too, isn’t she?”

That was quite probable. They waited a few moments more there and the nerves that had been drowned out with a (too small) dose of adrenalin were coming back now. “This is never going to work,” Castiel hissed violently, still staring after the jogging guards. “They’ll all get caught and then everyone here will know we are here…”

“They will if you don’t shut up,” snarled Dean quietly. “Keep quiet and come _on_.”

They sneaked after the way the guards had gone, trying not to attract too much attention, which wasn’t too hard considering all the ruckus that was going on upstairs. They didn’t follow their path up the stairs, though. This time it was Castiel who pulled Dean into a side corridor right before reaching the main stairway. “You asked about shortcuts,” he stated.

Dean stared for a moment before uttering a vague, “uh, yeah,” and following him onto a different kind of stairs. They were steep and narrow and before, Castiel had always been convinced he would fall off because they were slippery and there was nothing to hold on to. But that should really be in the back of his mind now, and not in the forefront. (It was, in truth, mainly Dean’s voice that he heard there. _‘Don’t be a baby, Cas, ‘s your palace.’_ )

Their footsteps were muffled, but sounded loud to Castiel’s ears, and he worried how they would surely be heard. How could it be that no one noticed these sounds? But, and he knew this, these stairs were barely ever used, and not very well known by anyone in the castle except perhaps himself and his brother. Indeed, his worries were for nothing, for no one ever came for them.

The reason for that became clear when they peered down the hallway once they reached the second floor. “I think they found them,” Dean said so close to Castiel’s ear it made him jump. “We gonna need to be fast.”

It was a really bad moment for Cas’s heart to start beating even faster than it already had been doing. “What… What would you say is our next step?”

“Check if she’s in her chamber? Probably not, but hey, it’ll be easier to get into than your brother’s chambers over there, so…”

“Okay.” That was all Castiel said before sneaking off silently (he was scarily good at being completely silent, even if he wasn’t to his own ears), with Dean clumsily following because he hadn’t expected the other man to start going so quickly.

“Dammit Cas, slow down for a bit!”

The prince shushed him and pointed to a door he was convinced of was supposed to be the sole chamber of Lilith. It was closed.

“Do you think we should go in?”

“It could be a trap,” said Castiel slowly.

“Yeah well, what else do you suppose we do? Go back there?” He jerked his head back in the direction where they’d come from.

“No,” the prince said with a deep frown.

“So, we’re going in. Back me up, will you?”

In all honesty, Castiel had no idea how he was going to do that. Yes, he had some more experience hunting monsters now, but if Lilith was a witch… He had no idea how that even worked. What if she could disarm him with a single word?

He took out his knife nonetheless and nodded, glancing left and right down the corridor as Dean fiddled with the door lock.

“This is never going to work…”

“Shut _up_.”  The lock clicked and Dean, apparently having forsaken the plan of being subtle, threw open the door in a theatrical movement.

“Dean Winchester. Oh, and prince Castiel. I had been told you were not as dead as you were supposed to be.”

For the first time since he’d first seen him in the cottage, Castiel wondered if there was more to this for Dean. He did seem like he had a personal vendetta against the woman, in any case, he thought as the other man growled, “Lilith.” He twisted his wrist in the same way he did when he was about to grasp for a weapon.

Suddenly, Castiel wasn’t quite sure if he wanted Dean to be dealing with this.

“How many people have you been trying to kill just to keep Lucifer happy, huh? Turning them twice as small so they wouldn’t stand a chance against any monster?”

“From what I gather,” she said with a smile too broad to be normal, “they haven’t been so defenceless. They are here, are they not?”

“And yet you were hiding in your chamber,” Castiel added to the conversation, wondering if she had seen them coming, been expecting them. He hoped not, for it would greatly reduce their chances of success. “Shouldn’t you be with Lucifer, now?”

“Why? Are you afraid he cannot hold his own against seven dwarves?” She let out an inhuman sound that was probably supposed to be a laugh, but held no true humor. “Really, Castiel, and to think you would be the one to rule a kingdom!”

“A great ruler never underestimates.” It’s ironic how while he says this, he’s still impressed how fast Dean manages to get his gun pointed and ready. Years of practice, he’d told him. Castiel didn’t particularly like to think about that.

She just tilted her head a bit. “Fascinating.”

Castiel had already opened his mouth to ask what was so fascinating, but Dean was faster. “Shut it, bitch. No one cares. You’re gonna turn everyone back in their rightful state right now.”

The thing was, in truth, they could kill neither of them. Even if Lucifer had turned out to have become a worse person Castiel could have ever imagined them to be, he could never do that to the one he’d regarded as his true blood brother for so long. As for Lilith—well, what choice did they have but for her to reverse the spell first?

The absolute worst thing was, she _knew_ this. She was just standing there, smirking at them and doing nothing because yes, in fact she _could_ do that. “Really boys, this is kind of pathetic, isn’t it? You see, I think we all know this is not going to work.”

“Shut your pie hole,” Dean grunted. Cas squinted at him as if that would make him figure out whatever was going on here. Then again, the woman had turned both his brother and his second father into dwarves and sent them into exile—that may be enough for anyone to hold a grudge.

“Yeah, yeah, because when I talk too much, I might just… curse you, isn’t that right?”

“Kill us, more like it.”

“Now, now, Dean. Why would we have all of you killed?” It was a voice that made both Dean and Castiel’s blood run cold, and his head snapped to the side so fast he felt lucky he didn’t break his neck. Really, though—wasn’t he supposed to be in his own chambers?

“You.”

“Ah yes, me,” Lucifer said with a smile. “Hello, Castiel. Aren’t I glad to see you back, safe and well!” When no one replied, his smile only got broader to match Lilith’s. “Did you really think, after everything, we wouldn’t have seen you coming somehow?”

They should’ve foreseen it, really. How could they have been so stupid? It all had seemed to go too well, with barely encountering any guards at all, and everyone knew there is no such thing as ‘going too well’.

It was Castiel who stepped up then, and shoved Dean behind him—which the latter found a pretty stupid move, seeing as he was still the one holding the gun. He let Cas, though; this quarrel with Lucifer was more personal for him than for Dean.

“You’ve gotten yourself a boyfriend! How sweet.”

“Lucifer. You need to stop this.” They were empty words and they all knew it. It was, after all, far too late for that. But Castiel liked to see the good in his family even if it weren’t there anymore. His brother, however, had learnt a few tricks out of Lilith’s book in the meantime, and was not afraid to use them. He snapped his fingers with a look that said something bad was going to happen, and Castiel held his breath for it.

Nothing happened.

“Looks like you need to practice a bit more, buddy.”

Castiel wanted to warn Dean to shut his mouth for once, really; only by the time he looked at him, it was already too late.

“Why,” Lucifer said slowly, turning toward Lilith, “does it work on him, yet not on my brother?” When he didn’t immediately get an answer, he barked, “Looking-glass!”

“Yes, oh Morningstar?” came the bored reply from the looking-glass set against a wall.

“Explain,” Lucifer demanded without bothering to ask nicely, which the looking-glass usually insisted on (manners are important, after all). Yet this time he didn’t bother to do so: his reply came sudden and gleeful.

“Oh Morningstar, in keeping your brother from the throne  
One thing was forgotten that is clearly not condoned

Where family is most important of all  
Undermining it was your biggest flaw.”

Lucifer looked like he didn’t know what that was supposed to mean—or rather, like he did not want to know. He understood perfectly well, though. “I see,” he said slowly, before snapping his fingers again. He didn’t even seem to have to think about it, and looked disinterested as Lilith, too, disappeared.

Castiel let his eyes quickly wander to the ground—he needed to be able to identify one frog from the other, if he wanted to save Dean. He was fairly sure Dean was the slightly bigger one who was now trying to smack the other frog with his too-short front leg, so that might not be that big a problem.

It was just the two brothers now, and with now only one chance at the throne. One day, Castiel may have dreamed of reigning with his brother, but he’d by now finally let go of that delusion.

“So, now we’ve gotten rid of our… lovely companions, I suggest you stop this madness, Castiel. You cannot win from me.” There was a certain arrogance in the older man’s voice that made the other cringe; it did not sound like the brother he’d grown up with, and it was still somehow hurtful to think about all that had happened in these past weeks. (Could it really only have been weeks? It felt so long, yet thinking about it, it seemed so much shorter.)

The time in Purgatory had seemed to pace in a weird way, though, and the journey had made him, if still not a great hunter, tougher than he’d been before. And if he still had to brace himself for having to hurt his brother, then that was just a leftover from the good times they’d had when they were younger. He pushed those memories down. Those were things to mull over later, not at this moment.

The Colt was lying on the ground now that Dean could obviously no longer hold it. He tried not to eye it before he swiftly picked it up off the ground, afraid that Lucifer would notice and be quicker than him. Never show signs on what your plan is, an encounter with a particularly vicious vampire had taught him that much.

Lucifer smirked. Castiel swallowed, afraid that his brother had figured out anyway. His eyes were probably too calculating and his breathing too controlled and… Now was as good a time as any, then.

He didn’t know how he ever turned so fast that he could pick up the object off the ground in the blink of an eye, and manage to aim it at his brother’s head without even thinking about it. It wasn’t until he was standing again and had time to think, that he realised what he was doing, even though he’d been considering it the few seconds before as well. He couldn’t shoot his brother! He was no murderer, even if he’d killed a few monsters in the last few days.

They both knew this, really. Lucifer was just about to make a clever remark about it, obvious by the look in his eyes that Castiel could read like no other.

He shot.

In the leg, of course, not the head. As stated, he could never have done that. His hands were even shaking from this, now; he’d never shot a gun before in his life. And his brother was making such a wounded sound it physically hurt him as well; a pang of guilt that made him feel sick to the stomach.

Too much heart was always Castiel’s problem.

The guards were there almost immediately, stopping in the doorframe as they saw Castiel, as if not sure what their next move should be now. Their eyes were flitting from their one prince to the other and they were quite clearly holding in all the words and questions they wanted to shout out loud. He wondered what it must look like, seeing himself standing there with a gun still aimed at Lucifer’s now dropped figure—on the ground, clutching his injured leg—after the latter had probably proclaimed him death weeks ago.

He tried not to show any signs of reluctance. “Release the men you have taken captured. Take my brother instead.” Castiel’s voice was steady, and after only a second of hesitation, one of the guards stepped forward.

“What has happened here, prince Castiel?”

He considered explaining it, but there was simply no time. Any moment, Lucifer could gather his wits over the pain and curse them all. “It is not of import. I will give out the official statement to you all later.”

“But…”

“ _Later_.”

None of them hesitated this time, put off by the force in his tone and the sense of urgency that was emanated by his gesture to get on with it. He was still, after all, their rightful prince, and there was a part of his authority they would never dare to thwart.

“What about these… frogs?” someone asked, confused.

“Put the smallest in an aquarium. Leave the other to me.” He had no idea what to do next, though. He was not a sorcerer; he had no idea how magic worked, or how to reverse it. He held Dean the Frog in his hand and stared intently into his eyes, frown deepening by the second.

He heard Sam enter the chamber before he saw him, and he could tell the other man was grinning. “Try a kiss. You never know, it’s worked before.”

If frogs could glare, Dean was doing a good job of it.

  


**06.**  
The ballroom was filled, even if it was not the only place people were celebrating.

Of course, the most important people were there, starting with Gabriel, Bobby, Garth and Ash, all back on their normal height. Ed and Harry were off somewhere else in the kingdom, doing who-knew-what. Sam the Giant was there, too, along with the girl he’d never gotten around to telling his feelings before he got cursed and sent away. She was a very pretty blonde named Jessica, and every time Sam looked at her he got that goofy kind of smile people have when they’re in love.

Castiel wondered if that was how he looked at Dean.

“Sasquatch is trying to get her to dance,” Dean pointed out, grinning in the direction of his brother. “He should’ve stayed cursed, really, she wouldn’t have had to break her neck.”

“You’re glad the curse is broken.” It hadn’t even taken that much; Castiel’s taking the throne had been enough. At least Lilith had overlooked the biggest flaw in their plan: magic does not work against family, and family doesn’t end with blood. (That, or perhaps she’d just assumed her plan would work well enough for the younger prince never to take the throne.)

“Yeah, of course I am. I mean, look at how happy he is.” Sam had now taken Jessica to the middle of the ballroom and was clumsily leading her around. He wasn’t a great dancer, but he was radiating happiness, and Jessica couldn’t seem to stop smiling either, so it didn’t really matter.

Dean sighed then, but not in a tired or annoyed way. In fact, he was now smiling broadly too as he turned into Cas’s direction and held out his hand. “You know what? Let’s just go for it, okay?”

Castiel had a feeling this wasn’t something Dean did very often, so he went with it and followed him with a fluttering feeling in his chest. It didn’t take very long to realise that dancing genes were not something that was very common in the Winchester family, and going around the dance floor with him was a bit awkward at first. But that was okay, because it may not be perfect, but this, Castiel knew, was the feeling he’d been looking for all along.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

It was calm and sincere and for a moment Dean stilled, and Castiel was afraid he would run away and leave him there. But after that one moment, Dean started moving again, albeit not like they had been doing before. Instead, he was leaning forward, pressing his lips onto Cas’s. And this time they were soft and warm, and he moved his hand to Cas’s neck and pulled him closer.

Castiel smiled in the kiss and opened his mouth a little, just enough for his tongue to slip out and ask entrance to Dean’s mouth, and his heart leaped when he got that permission.

And if the people around them were all looking at them, and clapping, they didn’t care. They never heard Sam whooping in the background and the people around him laughing. Not at this moment. Because if things were going to be like in a fairy tale, like Sam had mentioned, then they were allowed their happy ending.

“We should go upstairs,” Dean mumbled, as if it really needed saying—Cas was already tugging at his collar for him to follow. There were congratulations _(“are you freaking kidding me?”)_ as they made their way to the staircase, where they’d be out of sight and could stumble upstairs fumbling at each other like a pair of horny teenagers.

“We should not do this in front of the pets,” Castiel proclaimed seriously.

“Nah, they can watch.” Dean smirked at the two frogs in the aquarium that were both staring at them with a frown. He’d never really dared to wonder where Gabriel had learnt the spell Lucifer had used on Lilith, but it still amused him greatly.

“Dean,” Cas reprimanded with a smirk. “That’s disgusting. Now come on, I have a very comfortable bed that is screaming to be used.”

Dean groaned in a very happy way. “How did I end up with someone so perfect?” he asked more to himself than Castiel, and Cas knew this was as close to a proclamation of love he was going to get for now. It didn’t matter, though, because when the other man touched him, every skin-on-skin contact sent stars through his body, and when he touched Dean in return, even behind Dean’s pleasure-clogged eyes he could see something more. That is, until there were stars everywhere, shooting throughout his entire body to the very tips of his nerve endings, fillings his vision and his world, and the only thing left in his mind was _Dean_.

(And they lived happily ever after.)


End file.
